


Heartbreak, Healing, and Learning To Move On

by Avery_Bee



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Falsettos - Lapine/Finn (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Charlotte and Cordelia are only mentioned, Comfort Food, Emotional Hurt, Family, Family Feels, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I didn't reread or proof this, I didn't write this to be a fic, I just added in that last paragraph to tie it up, I thought I posted this, I wrote it as a roleplay starter, I wrote this at like 4 in the morning running on no sleep, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason is 16 now, Light Angst, Loss of Parent(s), Marvin also died, Marvin and Whizzer are discussed heavily, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, basically Jason is having a bad day and sees his dads everywhere, because my brother's a dick, but it didn't end up getting used, mONTHS ago, my gratuitous love for latkes comes in STRONG, no beta we die like men, nothing graphic, sorry that this is so disjointed and jumps around so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Bee/pseuds/Avery_Bee
Summary: Three years after the events of Falsettos, Jason is having a bad day and thinks back on moments he had with his dads.That's it, that's the fic.Bittersweet reminiscing.
Relationships: Cordelia & Jason (Falsettos), Dr. Charlotte & Jason (Falsettos), Jason & Marvin (Falsettos), Jason & Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Jason & Trina (Falsettos), Jason & Whizzer Brown, Jason (Falsettos) & Everyone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Heartbreak, Healing, and Learning To Move On

**Author's Note:**

> This will be cross posted on ffn once they actually get a Falsettos category started (like, excuse me? Why the heck don't they already????) I sent in an email requesting it, so we'll see how that goes.

Jason was now sixteen years old. It had been three years since his sort of step father (there had never been a wedding, thanks to the legalities of marriage, but he had definitely thought of his father's boyfriend as a father just as much as his biological father and his mother's second husband) had passed away due to an illness that medicine hadn't been able to reverse or keep at bay. Three years since his first father (he would never refer to any of the men that had helped to raise him as his 'real' father, they all were) had begun to show signs of that same illness. Two years since he had been stuck in the same hospital as Papa (he had never gotten the chance to tell Whizzer he thought of him as a father as much as he did Marvin, but if he had gotten that chance, he decided that 'Papa' suited him better than 'Dad'. Besides, he wouldn't have been able to call all of his father's the same thing. It would have been entirely too confusing on the frequent occasions they were all in the same room together) and though he had been able to hold on longer, doctor's still didn't know enough about the sickness that was going around to get him out of that room. One year. It had been one year since Jason had lost a second father to the damned disease that they had called Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome. AIDS.

Jason still didn't know how to really grieve. He was still young, he didn't always have the best relationship with his dad, but he had still been his father and it had gotten better. From the time he was eleven to the time his dad had passed away when he was fifteen it had been better. Jason wasn't quite numb, but he had become used to the heavy feeling in his chest. The pain and emptiness and overwhelming everything.

After Papa had passed, Jason had quit his baseball team. He had never been particularly good to begin with, but playing had made him think too much about how the man would help him with his posture and gripping the bat correctly and how to throw the ball well and how, when they watched a game on their television on the weekends (his mother and Pops had custody of him throughout the week, Papa and Dad got him on the weekends) he would try his best to explain what was happening on the field to Dad, getting annoyed when the other man made him repeat himself and he would run his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a way that Jason never got to see it otherwise. Or how he would get angry over the turn out of the game, or when he would put money on a game and it went in his favor, how he would shout excitedly and jump up from where he was and run to kiss Dad in a way that was too intense and would always make Jason wrinkle his nose, but he could always see how in love the two were in those moments.

When Dad had passed away he had given up chess. Dad had taught him how to play when he was still young, before he and Mom had gotten a divorce. Before Jason had even met Whizzer. When Dad had tried to fix their relationship that had seemed unsalvageable at the time, he had pulled out the worn chess set and sat Jason down, playing game after game with him (a few trips to the museum and live baseball games sprinkled in there as well) until, eventually, Jason had come around and they were able to be close again. If he was honest, it was hard for Jason to play for a few months after his Bar Mitzvah. He had played a couple games with Papa throughout the time he had lived with Dad, but that last game, the one they had never been able to finish, had been really hard on Jason. He had left the king on Whizzer's gravestone at his funeral. Sometime after that second month after Papa had passed, Dad had set a new king on the chessboard, already otherwise set up for a game, but even with the shiny new king on the board, Jason couldn't find it in himself to move a pawn until another couple of months had passed.

But now. Now all Jason could see while looking at a chess set was his two fathers giving those unconvincing smiles, looking too pale and too tired and too thin and too close to death's door to really be happy, and sliding a piece across the board in an entirely unhelpful move. He could only see the tight look on his Dad's face as he tried to find common ground, something to talk about and grasping desperately at anything he could. His Dad giving him a soft smile when Jason had triumphantly called out a check mate. His exasperated, but endeared face when Papa would come up behind him, arms resting on his Dad's shoulders and leaning down to whisper something in his ear, loud enough that Jason could hear that he was giving really bad advice.

Since his favorite things had been spoiled by the loss of his father's, Jason had come to lose himself in books. Somewhere that he didn't have to think. He didn't have to feel. He didn't feel like everything was careening out of his control. He could always enjoy a story. Find someone to relate to. Someone he could pretend to be for a few hours. Someone who wasn't Jason Cohen-Brown-Weisenbachfeld (that might not be his legal name, because his mother had decided that he didn't need to change his name when she had remarried, but he sure as hell was going to change it when he was old enough). Someone who hadn't lost two of the most important people in his life within as many years.

Today was bad. Of course he had had the time to heal and get over his fathers’ death by now. It had been long enough. He should be fine by now. But he still had the occasional day where everything was too much. He would wake up, stare up at the ceiling and he could almost smell the ridiculously expensive cologne Papa had always worn, almost hear his Dad brushing his boyfriend off, saying that just because his shirt hadn't cost a small fortune didn't mean it was horrendous, throwing out that same stupid line about how if he had cared at all about how he dressed then he wouldn't be able to afford Papa's expensive lifestyle.

If he closed his eyes again, Jason could believe that he had just woken up from a nightmare and when he opened his eyes he would see the glow star stickers that Papa had pressed into place, doing his best to arrange them into a realistic depiction of the sky based on just his memory. He could believe that in just a moment Dad would come in, shaking his shoulder and telling him that waking up at a decent hour would give him a more productive day, or he would hear the soft knock on the door before Papa would hesitantly open the door and call out to him that they had managed to somehow actually put together an almost decent breakfast and that he had to get up and get something to eat.

Today, no matter what he did, everything would remind him of his fathers and he would probably end up crying at least three times before noon because he would smell slightly burnt toast, or saw someone who vaguely looked like his Dad or Papa, or he would hear someone say something that was so achingly familiar. Today, it wasn't an anniversary of anything. It was just a day that he was weak. Today he wasn't going to school. He wouldn't be able to. There was no way.

He slowly gets out of bed. The bed in the only home he had now. He shuffles his way down the stairs. He doesn't bother to make his bed, get dressed, brush his hair, he doesn't even bother brushing his teeth.

When he gets to the kitchen, there's a distinct lack of laughter and the smell of anything burning along with a hint of Papa's favorite morning tea. There was no tall, handsome man in his silky robe adjusting a tie that he was practically glaring at while his partner just gave him a soft smile and took another sip from his coffee.

There is, however, the very strong smell of brewing coffee and frying eggs, the sound of soft humming and the quiet trickling as the coffee fell from the maker into the pot. A man already dressed in worn jeans and a soft sweater that had seen better days.

"Hey Pops," Jason's voice was rough, even he could tell that he had sounded small. He clears his throat, sitting at his usual place at the table as his step father turns with a smile that falls from his face as he sees the state Jason is in.

"Good morning, Jason," his voice is light, soft, clearly trying his best to not upset the young man. "Want me to call in for you?" He hadn't even quite finished his question before Jason was nodding. "Alright. Let me finish up breakfast. I'll let your mom know and I'll call before I leave." He gives a small, reassuring smile.

Jason knew that Pops and Mom were there for him. He knew that if he needed to talk to someone else, he also had his godmothers who were practically a third set of parents to him, but it felt wrong to talk to Papa's doctor about either fathers’ death and Cordelia was surprisingly bad at listening to emotional people. Jason loved them both dearly and they both did their best to help him through everything and always offered their support, but Jason had never known how to lean on them. Never knew how to talk to anyone about it, really, so he just didn't. He was fine, really. Or at least. He should be. After so much time.

Jason doesn't reply to Pops, but he does sit there, keeping the man company as he finishes off the eggs, sliding them onto a platter that was already filled with more eggs, bacon, and latkes. As the psychiatrist heads off back to his room, presumably to wake Mom and grab his leather bag, Jason pushes himself up from the table and fills a small plate with a couple of eggs, some bacon, and more latkes than he really needed.

He smuggles the food back up to his room and shuts the door behind him. He knew that neither Pops nor Mom would come in to bother him, but he still panicked about what to say if either of them came in until he heard the front door open and close twice, signaling the departure of both to get to work on time.

He sets his plate onto the little table next to his bed, two picture frames on top of it that he quickly flipped over before he looked at them. One held that picture of all of them that last day in the hospital. The day of his Bar Mitzvah when they had all first come into Papa's room for the celebration and Mom had made them take a photo despite Papa's protests. The other was happier, none of the smiles looked strained. It was before Papa had gotten sick. After the first game he and his team had won. Papa and Dad had taken him out for ice cream and they had all smushed together so that Papa could get a photo of them all. It was slightly blurry, and they were all uncomfortably close together with Jason squeezed between the two men, but it was one of Jason's happiest days.

Pulling on the old headphones of his Walkerman, he plays his favorite tape, already loaded into the device, and lays back, closing his eyes and trying to think of anything else. After a few fruitless hours of only thoughts of too bright walls and the smell of bleach too strong in his nose and tasteless food he gets up, leaving his room through the window, pulling himself up onto his roof in a way that was steadily becoming more and more natural to him.

This was one of the few places where he could breathe easy on bad days. He had never been on the roof with his Dad (he worried whenever Jason stood "too close" to the home plate while he was playing baseball, for Christ's sake) and Papa had been too concerned to accidentally let Jason get hurt while he was in charge to actually let him do anything cool (not that he really wanted to do anything risky back then, he just wanted a challenging game of chess or more pointers to improve in baseball). He was infinitely grateful for this now, everywhere else he could tie back to at least one of his fathers in some way. So long as he didn't come up here at night, it was fine (he had done some star gazing with Papa when they were first getting to know each other, hence the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling).

It was nice to be able to be out here and to just be able to  _ breathe _ without fear of falling back into old thoughts of long past memories, no matter how soothing those same memories might be on another day. Jason takes his time out here, up in the sky thinking about nothing and listening to the same tape on repeat until the sun dips beneath the horizon and the sky shifts from a soft blue into bright oranges and bruise like purples.

When he eventually crawls into bed that night, all he can do is hope tomorrow will be a good day, knowing that the likelihood is pretty high, the bad days had been becoming less severe, fewer and further between as time continued to crawl forward at a snail’s pace, but Jason was beginning to mind less and less the older he got.


End file.
